


Paper Hearts

by thecountessolivia



Category: Jagten | The Hunt (2012)
Genre: Christmas, Conversations, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-19
Updated: 2016-08-20
Packaged: 2018-08-09 19:28:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7814233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecountessolivia/pseuds/thecountessolivia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A little over ten years later, Lucas and Klara have a talk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It's two in the afternoon, Christmas day. If everyone is to be fed, then everyone has to work for their dinner. Duties have been allocated. Mum and Nadja are on the ham. Marcus and his girlfriend Elke are on the rice pudding. Dad, Johan and Torsten are on the venison stew.

Klara's lot is to peel a small mountain of potatoes with Lucas.

They've found their little island of silence at the corner of the kitchen table. Around them the house roars with a comforting bustle. Klara has heard it all – every petty spat, every bad snowman joke, every one of Mum's annoyed groans – a hundred times before. Dad is on his fourth beer and barking orders at Torsten. People are still arriving. Someone's stuck on bad Christmas music.

They get through five big spuds – Klara with her peeler, Lucas with his knife – before the silence breaks. Lucas nods towards Marcus' girlfriend.

"Have you said hello to Elke? She studied art too."

Klara shakes her head no.

"So," he says. "First term. You survived."  
  
"Yep."

She smiles but keeps her eyes down. She moves them between her peeler and his hands.  
  
"Not too scary being the youngest on the course?"  
  
"It's okay. There's a couple of seventeen year olds. But we've given us loads of work over the break."

"No rest for the wicked. Here," he slides the bowl of potatoes towards himself. "I peel, you draw."

She smiles up at him. Christmas lights are glinting in his glasses. She takes up her sketchpad and pencil and picks up where she left off.

"Hey. Klara."

She looks up in time to see mirth crease his eyes before he turns away from her. A curious minute passes and then, suddenly, Klara is face to face with a potato.

"Look, Klara, I'm an artist, too."

The potato has been carved with a buck-toothed potato face. Klara can't help her giggles. She's five years old again.

The spud-face growls threateningly at her. "I am the evil ghost of Christmas potatoes past. You have eaten my brothers."

She's grinning at him, big and wide. She feigns fright. 

"Must be nice to be home, eh?"  
  
"Kind of."  
  
"Kind of?"  
  
"I think — it felt good to leave."

She sneaks another glance up and finds the laugh creases around his eyes smoothed over with soft seriousness. She looks above them, to where his hair now grows thickly streaked with silver. She wonders when it first began to turn this way.


	2. Chapter 2

"Didn't you? Want to leave, I mean."

"I thought about it over the years. But everyone I know is here. All my family and friends. I couldn't give up on them." 

"But they were all so mean. And so angry with you."

"A lot of them were, yes. I think some maybe even stayed that way."

"All because I said something stupid. Lucas —"

She's clutching the sketchpad to her chest. Lucas puts down his knife. 

"Klara, hey. Listen. Don't start. You've said sorry before. And what did I tell you back then?"

"That I can't apologise for something I didn't understand."

"That's right. You were so tiny. How could you know?"

"So I never get to apologise?"

"Who says you need to?"  

"You're right. I didn't really understand what was happening back then. Or what would happen. All I remember is how things felt. How I was angry and embarrassed and wanted you to feel embarrassed too. But then everyone was angry too. Like it spread from me. Like I wrote this horrible story in a language I didn't understand and everyone just believed it. I — I invented this reality. And then couldn't take it back. But I've tried to understand since then, I really —"

Her breath runs out. She pulls up the sketchpad to hide the wobble in her lip and stares down. His hands come into view, folded together like two dancers.

"Klara, that's not possible. All you have to go on are memories of a five year old and what people have told you since. That's not understanding."

"So I'll never really get to say I'm sorry."

Lucas sighs. Klara knows too well that whatever he says next will be only to comfort her.

"Klara. Listen. It was OK in the end. It took a little while but everyone and everything was fine."

"Were they? Was it?"

At that he swallows and stares past her.

"Like I said, some people stayed angry. But that's their business. Klara," he frowns and looks straight at her. "Were things... not fine for you?"

"Lucas!" Dad is roaring from somewhere. "Come help me with the fucking roof lights, the whole left side's packed up."

Lucas stands. He lingers for a moment, the way he used to when he'd walk her home, making sure she was safely inside.

And then Klara is alone again, on her quiet island, with her drawings and her ridiculous mountain of potatoes.

She looks down to the page and makes a few corrective smudge marks. She's happy with the way his hands turned out, the way the fingers curl gently around the heart.

The house roars around her. No one would notice a page torn out, folded and slipped into a pocket. She wants so much to give this gift.

But this time Klara doesn't.

**Author's Note:**

> "Jagten" made my heart hurt something awful. I wondered how Klara would fare years later, whether she could come to terms with what had happened.


End file.
